


Volatile Times (Turn the Lights On)

by a_little_bit_larry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Gang Violence, Gangs, Gangster Louis, Innocent Harry, M/M, Wow Louis is carrying a gun that's a scary thought, please this is just a really shitty story idk what i'm doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:32:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_little_bit_larry/pseuds/a_little_bit_larry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson was a gang banger. He was a liar. He was a thief. </p>
<p>He was a murderer.</p>
<p>Louis hadn’t even spoken to his family in over 7 years. He didn’t get close to people, unless they were his gang brothers, Niall and Zayn. He couldn’t get close to people; his heart (what heart?) wasn’t available. </p>
<p>So what the fuck did Harry Styles think he was playing at?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this based off a picture I saw on tumblr and it's kind of gone from there... enjoy!

It was raining and it was fucking cold. Louis didn’t take well to being cold.

He was walking down a trashed alley with Niall by his side, Zayn leading the way. The brick engulfing them was painted with graffiti. The three were dressed in black so they blended in with their surroundings and the darkness of night. Good thing, because they were going to need all the cover they could get.

He zipped his black hoodie up all the way, pulling the hood up to cover his head, keeping his face towards the ground the whole time. Zayn continued to lead the way to the shop they were headed to. Zayn was the natural leader of their gang. He’d grown up in a family involved in the gang life. He’d been tattooed since he was twelve years old and by age fourteen he’d killed a man. Ever since then, he’d had a heart as black as his hair.

The only people Zayn cared about were Louis and Niall. The dark and brooding boy had killed people to protect his brothers and vice versa. Because that’s what they were; Zayn and Niall were Louis’ brothers til the end. They protected and defended each other to any means, even if that meant their hands were painted with the blood of the past.

Zayn spoke, his voice deep and thick, “It’s just up here, boys. It should be quick but keep your guns ready; this pussy may try to call the fucking cops.”

A small but powerful black gun was already in Zayn’s hand; the dark boy used that hand to wipe his forehead. Although it was raining, his hair managed to stay styled so that you could still perfectly see the strip of blonde highlighting the contrasting darkness. People might think that someone as well groomed as Zayn wouldn’t be as terrifying as he was. But from what Louis had seen over the years, the way that Zayn managed to look gorgeously put together and still pull the trigger of the gun he was holding against someone’s head, made him the most intimidating fucker he’d ever met. 

In the pocket of his wet hoodie, Louis clenched his hand around the handle of his gun. It was an old, familiar friend. He’d done stuff like this hundreds of times, going into shops, doing a little light threatening and sometimes shooting some knee caps if they didn’t get what they wanted. Something low priority like this didn’t usually end up in a death. As long as the people they were paying the visit to knew they owed the Faceless money and they paid them that money, they were going to live. Maybe with minor injuries, but nothing that couldn’t be taken care of with an immediate trip to the emergency room.

When they reached the tiny convenience store, Louis was just happy to get out of the fucking rain. He shook the water off of his body, hand still caressing the handle of his 9mm pistol.

He knew the drill. He took the head of the group now, walking towards the register where Oliver Turner stood. Louis could tell he was expecting them, he showed all the signs; dark rings under the eyes, thin lips, untidy hair. This was a man who knew he was in trouble and hadn’t slept in days because of it. 

“Oi, Turner,” Louis called out when he was a few feet from the register. The man whipped around with wide eyes and when they landed on Louis’ small frame, he seemed to calm down a fraction. This was the way his gang worked; lure the prey into a false sense of feeling secure with Louis, because Louis looked like less of a threat than the other two boys, and then scare the ever-loving shit out of him when Zayn decided to make his appearance.

The shop was small; no one besides Louis and the boys were in it. Niall, who was wearing his sunglasses despite the pitch-blackness outside, grabbed a bag of crisps and tore them open, ignoring the tiny protest of Turner.

Oliver Turner was probably in his fifties. He had a worn face that showed years of hard times. His clothes were ragged, just a battered t-shirt with camouflage cargo shorts that had been worn so much that you could hardly tell a difference in colors. Maybe it made Louis a monster that he didn’t have one ounce of sympathy to give the man but it was what it was. This man owed them money and they were here to collect. Simple as that.

“Look boys, I don’t want any trouble so if you could please just leave my shop…” Turner trailed off as he fidgeted, worry written across his lined face. The boys weren’t leaving and he could tell.

“Now see here, Ollie,” Louis said, sauntering over to the counter, a patronizing smirk playing on his lips. “We don’t want any trouble either. We just want our money, ya feel us?”

Turner took a step back but there was nowhere to go behind the counter; he was trapped. 

“And I’m getting it, I’ll get you your money, I swear, I just need more time,” Turner stuttered out.

Niall stepped up beside Louis and placed the hand that wasn’t holding his snack on Louis’ hooded shoulder. In his thick Irish accent he said, “See, here’s the thing. We don’t think you will, Ollie. We don’t think you got our money and we don’t think you got any way to get it. That leaves us in a bit of a bind.”

“I swear to you, just a little more time. I can have your money in two weeks, that’s all I need, I promise,” Turner was begging them. In that moment, Louis almost did feel bad for this poor sucker. He didn’t know what was about to hit him. It was Zayn’s turn. 

Zayn appeared out of nowhere, having been hidden in shadows and staying out of view. Zayn was intimidating even in the best of times; but when his anger was directed at you, it was enough to make a grown man shit their pants.

He walked up so he was touching the counter, face to face with Turner. His voice was deep and smooth and threatening – a dangerous combination.

“We gave you more time, we gave you two more days and we still don’t have our money, do we? Why should you expect us to believe two weeks will make any difference?” Zayn growled.

Turner began frantically twisting his hands, looking in both directions for a way to escape. He knew Zayn. He’d had contact with Zayn before. And he clearly knew that when Zayn showed up, it never meant anything good. The old man put his hands on the counter, desperately pleading now.

“I swear on my life you will get your money, mate, I swear.”

He probably hadn’t even meant to say it, but as soon as the word left Turner’s mouth, Louis knew the man had made a mistake. 

Zayn’s face twisted and his eyes darkened.

“Did you just call me… mate?” His upper lip curled into a sneer and in a second, Zayn had his gun pulled out of his pocket and directly trained on Turner’s face.

“Do you think this is a fucking game, Turner? Do you think that I won’t blow your fucking head off right now?” Bits of spit were flying from Zayn’s mouth as he screamed in the older man’s face. With a gun pointed at him, Turner was speechless and petrified.

“I am not your mate and I want my goddamn money, do you understand?” Zayn yelled.

Turner opened and closed his mouth but no words came out.

A gunshot went off before Louis had time to register what had happened and then he could see the extreme amounts of blood that were coming from the gaping wound straight through Oliver Turner’s hand. He fell behind the counter, clutching his hand and screaming out in agony.

After so many years of hearing those screams, Louis had learned to relish in them. The resonating sound of the gunshot intermingling with the screams coming from the bloody man below them sent shivers of pleasure down his spine.

Zayn turned on his heel and headed towards the door, jerking his head for the other two to follow.

A bell jingled when the door opened for the three boys to leave and Zayn called out over his shoulder, pocketing his gun, “I’ll be back tomorrow for my money and if you don’t have it, you’ll get a lot worse than a fucked up hand.”

Louis fell into step behind him and beside Niall, walking out into the night where it was still cold and raining. Right here with his brothers was the only place he fit in in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis meets Harry and maybe Harry is more intrigued than he should be.

He may have been a threat to society but that didn’t mean he didn’t still crave chocolate far more often than he should just like a normal lad. It was two in the afternoon and Louis was sitting in his flat alone. He never did shit during the day, all of his official business waited until dark. Niall had disappeared from the flat that morning and Louis had no fucking clue where the bastard was. Zayn was probably locked away inside his own flat with that pretty little purple-haired slut.

So that left Louis alone and craving a chocolate bar.

He decided to stop watching World War II documentaries and get his lazy ass of the couch to head to the convenience store (which was of the only convenience stores in the area that the Faceless hadn’t completely fucked up… yet.) and buy himself a Starbar.

Putting on the same black hoodie that he always wore, he headed out the door and down the block. It only took him five minutes to get to the Quickie Mart and he strutted in like he owned the fucking place – which he pretty much did; the Faceless ran this part of town. Fear was a powerful thing. 

The chocolate was in the back of the store. After grabbing five candy bars, he went to the register to pay because (and he would never admit this in front of Zayn) he didn’t like to steal when he could help it. He’d grown up poor and he knew what it was like to struggle. The least he could do was pay for a few candy bars while he wasn’t fucking shit up.

There was nobody at the register to help him pay for his food when he got there, but there was a bell with a sign that said ‘Ring for service’.

Louis rang the bell once, twice, three times in a row because he didn’t like to wait. He was about to ring it a fourth time when a boy walked out of a back room, shaking his hair and pushing it out of his face. 

“I’m coming mate, calm down,” the boy said slowly. He clearly didn’t know who he was talking to. But then he looked up at Louis’ and recognition flickered across his face. The boy stared at Louis from behind the register, expression blank. 

The boy behind the register with curly hair spoke again, “I know who you are.” Curly grabbed the chocolate bars that were on the counter and began to swipe them one by one, a beep following each one.

“And from what I know, I wouldn’t take you for one to like Starbars,” Curly said, eyes still locked with Louis’. If this kid did know who Louis was, he had some fucking guts to hold his ground like this. 

Louis took the bait, because, why not? What else was he going to do with his afternoon until Niall and Zayn finally fucking decided to make an appearance? 

He leaned over the counter on his elbows with a devious smirk on his face.

“Oh yeah? So what do you know about me then?” Louis asked, eyebrow cocked. This kid didn’t know shit, even if he thought he did. 

“I know my uncle told me to stay away from you,” Curly said.

Well that was nothing new. Everyone was told to stay away from him. Louis Tomlinson was a menace. More than a menace, he was a murderer. Everyone in this part of London avoided his people like the plague. People should stay away from him; he liked it that way. 

But this kid looked like too much fun to play with to quit now.

“Why would he say a thing like that when I’m so much fun to be around?” Louis winked at the obviously younger boy. It was funny to watch him squirm. Besides, this boy was hot. Louis had needs. Curly was obviously just dumb, innocent and naïve enough to believe that there was something good to Louis if he was continuing to talk to him like this. 

“When you walked in here, he pulled me in the back. He told me you’re volatile. You and the rest of them,” Curly said. 

Louis wasn’t sure what Volatile meant but it sounded like it was probably the truth. However, he wasn’t going to let this kid know he hadn’t passed Grade 7 English. 

“Oooh, volatile, impressive vocabulary, pal,” Louis patronized. He ran a small hand through his limp hair - he hadn’t showered that morning. 

The boy was done checking his candy at this point, but the banter was entertaining. Besides, nobody was going to bug Louis fucking Tomlinson about holding up a line if they knew what was good for them. 

Curly cocked his head to the side and surveyed all of the man in front of him. Louis felt his eyes catch on the words that were visible peaking out of his shirt. So maybe Curly had a thing for tattoos. That was something Louis could work with.

“Are you?” Curly asked.

Louis was caught off guard. He wasn’t sure what the boy was asking and he wasn’t used to being questioned at all. He laughed it off.

“Am I what?” Louis asked in return.

“Volatile. Trouble… Are you?”

Louis narrowed his eyes. Was this kid serious? Could he not see what was in front of him? Did he not hear the stories? Had his uncle not told him just exactly who he was?

“What do you think?” Louis asked.

Curly paused for a moment, observing Louis once more. “I think you probably are,” the boy said. Louis chuckled and nodded his head. Maybe he wasn’t completely dense.

“But I like it.”

Louis slowly raised his eyes to look into the ones of this bold fucker. People didn’t talk like that to Louis. And it almost made him laugh because he didn’t even look like he was trying to be seductive or sexy, or come on to Louis at all. This kid was just being genuine right now - completely one hundred percent genuine.

Louis ran his hand through his hair again and then put his hoodie up. It was time to go, he needed to eat his damn chocolate and watch more segments on World War II era British Royal Air Force.

He threw some money on the counter and took the sack with his candy in it from the boy’s massive hand. His smaller one brushed against it. 

“Yeah, well, thanks for the chocolate, Curly,” Louis said, turning around without a backwards glance and heading towards the exit. 

“My pleasure, Trouble,” the sexy, curly haired Quickie Mart boy called out to his retreating figure.

************************************ 

Louis went back to the Quickie Mart two weeks later. He told the boys he was going to grab some Maltesers but really, he was going back to see Curly. He’d been sexy and he seemed intelligent, intuitive, and far too innocent. It was the kind of thing that Louis wanted to break. Louis wanted to see curly hair looking up at him from the ground, begging, broken, just like the rest of the world, and he wanted to be the one to do that. This kid was different than the other people he’d fucked. Everyone else knew that he was a fuck up. And this kid… Well, this kid obviously didn’t know what the hell he had gotten himself into. 

The door dinged like usual when he walked into the Quickie Mart. Louis walked straight back to the chocolate aisle, making a point not to look at the register and check for brown hair and green eyes. He wanted to make Curly want him but he wasn’t here to give his attention to the boy. 

Walking towards the register though, he could see the curly mop of hair he’d seen a few times in his imagination since the last time he’d been here. 

When he saw Louis, the younger boy’s full lips widened into a smile that showed off his deep dimples.

“Looks like Trouble’s returned. But then again, can’t really ever shake it, can you?” Curly said, joking like they were friends. If he was being honest, it made Louis uncomfortable. He didn’t have friends; unless you counted Zayn and Niall and they were bound to him by blood- there was a difference. But he would never admit he was out of his element, no matter what the situation. Ever.

“I just needed more chocolate, Curly,” Louis retorted. 

“Are you sure it wasn’t because you missed me?”

And what the fuck, Louis didn’t know where this was coming from. People avoided him; they ran away from him and avoided his gaze. Either that or they flung themselves at him, rubbing against him and making it known that they were just looking for a quick fuck to get back at their daddies. They never flirted with him. He was in control of this, though. He wasn’t going to remain off guard. 

“Nope, pretty sure it’s for the chocolate,” Louis said.

The boy shrugged, unconvinced, “Whatever you say, Trouble,” and he rang up the maltesers. “My name’s Harry by the way. I know you were wondering.”

Despite still feeling unsure of how to react with someone being so bold, Louis tossed the word around his brain. Harry. Interesting. Louis guessed it fit with the mess the boy had on his head.

“Good to know, Harry.” Louis said, the word sliding across his tongue like sugar. “I’m gonna go now.”

He’d gotten what he came here for - the boy’s name. Harry. He’d gotten it quicker than he thought he would and it was obvious to Louis that Harry was interested in him. Nobody was that forward without being interested. It was so innocent that Louis wanted to laugh, but instead he just plotted. He’d get to change that innocence soon enough. It was going to be fun; almost like a game.

“Don’t you want your Maltesers?” Harry called out to Louis retreating back.

“Nope, I got what I came for, Curly. See ya.” 

“Wait!” Harry said loudly. Louis stopped for a second. He didn’t know what made him stop. He didn’t take orders, except from Zayn. He didn’t do what people told him to do. So why had he just waited when Harry asked? 

“I don’t know your name,” Harry finished. Louis smirked, shaking off his questions from before. Oh yes, he totally had this boy hooked.

He kept walking, reaching the door and yelling over his shoulder, “We’ll just stick with Trouble for now. And don’t you forget it.”

******************************

When Louis went back to the Quickie Mart later that week, it was for a Pepsi this time. And maybe some chocolate bars, but he denied it when Niall accused him of having an addiction.

He walked to the register with his icy drink and chocolate expecting to come face to face with his curly haired boy. Instead, when he stood in front of the register and looked up, he saw an old man with a white beard. He was looking at Louis with just enough fear to almost cover up the disgust; the way everyone else in the world looked at Louis. Everyone else, that is, besides innocent, little Harry. 

“I know who you are…” The man said quietly, trying not to draw attention from any other customers. Louis instantly fixed him with the glare that came so naturally to him. It was threatening and he could see the old man shiver when he caught the threat being directed at him. He stuttered over his next words, “And… and you need to… just stay away from my nephew. He’s not like you, he’s a good kid.”

Louis didn’t have time for this shit. Who did this man think he was, talking to Louis like that? Stare all you want, tremble if you feel like it, but nobody insulted Louis Tomlinson and got away with it, even if what they were saying was true. He had absolutely no reservations about coming back to this store and shooting the old fuck, point blank.

Except maybe he did, because that might put a damper on his plan to get to Curly into bed with him. He couldn’t force the boy, he had to have Harry come to him… have him think the whole thing was his idea. Louis may have been a murderer but he was no rapist.

“Oh, I’ll bet he’s good, I’ll bet he’s real good,” Louis hissed, leaning over the counter. He was deliberately trying to rile the man up, mess with his head. He deserved worse for fucking with him, but this would do for now. Psychological fighting wasn’t as satisfying as bullets were, but it still helped. “We’ll see just how fucking good he is when I’m done with him. Because trust me, I’m not done with him yet. You’re little fucking warning has made sure of that.”

Slamming a fist down on the counter, he grabbed his Pepsi and chocolate and stormed out of the convenience store, breathing heavily and trying to calm himself down. Louis’ temper always got the better of him and maybe this wasn’t worth killing anyone over, but Louis Tomlinson didn’t get denied something that he wanted. Louis Tomlinson didn’t take well to warnings that bordered on threats. And he didn’t give a shit that it was probably best for Harry to stay away from him.

Because he was part of the Faceless, and the Faceless took what they wanted. Louis was done playing games, done going to the Quickie Mart for fucking snacks; he wanted Harry. And he wanted him now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes looking for trouble and, oh boy, does he find it.

Harry didn’t know where he was. He’d only been living with his uncle in downtown London for a few months and he easily got lost. His sense of direction was about as good as his ability to not dwell on bad boys that waltzed into convenience shops like they were the king of England.

After his interactions with the boy he only knew as Trouble, he’d done some covert asking around to Quickie Mart frequenters. He learned that if he were really looking for trouble, he’d find it in the worst part of London. Which was where he was now. Wondering around, cursing himself for thinking that he would just happen to stumble upon the gorgeous man who had captured his attention with a lift of his eyebrow and a tantalizing smirk.

Fear began to creep up his long spine. He hadn’t been thinking. This had been a horrible idea. None of this was happening the way it was supposed to, the way it would if this were a movie about fate bringing two would-be lovers together. Actually, he’d whimsically pictured walking up the sidewalk, emerging from a cloud of London fog and finding exactly what he was looking for, smiling and looking up from under smoldering eyelashes, inviting him forward with a twist of his lips. 

What he got instead was anxiety shredding every fiber of his being. The feeling that he was being followed was eating away at him and he couldn’t help jerking his head around at every whisper of someone possibly being near to him. He felt like Harry Potter must have on the day he’d mistakenly fallen into Knockturn Alley. 

Around every corner, dangerous looking men and a few women were either ignoring Harry completely or zeroing in and glaring at him with a violent look, knowing he didn’t belong.

Drops of sweat were starting to form uncomfortably on his neck and upper lip as he quickened his pace and began to look around wildly for anything remotely recognizable. He could feel the familiar burning in his lungs that signaled an impending asthma attack. It started slow, trickling through his throat, gradually constricting it. 

No, no, no. This could not be happening here. This was the last place he wanted to show any signs of weakness. People died here. What had he gotten himself into?

Harry pulled his purple inhaler that, being a severe asthmatic, he always had to keep readily available, out of his pocket as he turned down a street named Harrington. The brick buildings were dirty and crumbling and Harry could definitely see what he assumed were bullet holes covering the sides of the building he was passing. His breathing became even more ragged and he knew that he was on the fast track to passing out. He needed to stop moving, take a break, and take his medicine… but there was no stopping if he wanted to stay safe.

Just as he was going to put his inhaler to his mouth, Harry tripped over a metal pipe that was lying haphazardly in the middle of the sidewalk and flew into the concrete beneath him. His face smashed into the pavement, leaving bloody streaks across his left cheek and chipping his front tooth.

Harry scrambled to get up and find the inhaler that had flown out of his hand. Tears began to form and it was all he could do to not let sobs rip through his entire body, gasping for breath while blood dripped down his face. He couldn’t find it.

Backing up against one of the buildings, Harry slid down, shaking, and placed his head between his legs, willing himself to just breathe. He couldn’t think about anything else other than the pain his lungs were feeling. Where was he? Why was he even here? None of that mattered because, shortly, he was going to die if he didn’t get relief.

“This yours, kid?”

His head snapped up from between his knees when he heard a gravelly voice talking. Through the haze that had taken over his mind at the lack of oxygen and the utter confusion and terror he was feeling at the moment, Harry couldn’t help but muse that now would have been a perfect time for the trouble he’d so willingly set out looking for to show up if this were a movie.

The man that had apparently asked the question was standing in front of Harry, holding the purple, plastic device that could save his life. The man was older and had a white beard that was so dirty it looked varying shades of grey. He was covered in tattoos and Harry could see a gun in his back pocket. 

Finally, Harry nodded his head at the question the man had asked. He couldn’t talk, not when he was trying so desperately to take a breath. 

“Well I can’t just give it to you for free, now can I, kid? What can you offer me in return for something so valuable?” The man asked, leering down at Harry’s face that was still pretty even through the tears and blood.

Harry’s panic rose; any breath that he had managed to get back while he’d been doing breathing exercises between his knees had been stolen again by the way this man was looking at him.

“I –“ _gasp_ “I… don’t…” _gasp_ “know.” There was no air reaching his lungs. Any breath he took struggled and failed to make it down his constricted airways. The man laughed at Harry’s choked out answer.

There was nowhere for him to go and no way for him to escape, not in his condition. He was incapacitated and trapped and God only knew what the man taunting him was planning on doing to him.

The man holding his inhaler started walking forward and then bending down until he was on Harry’s level. Harry saw wrinkled hands with dirt caked under fingernails as the man dangled the thing that could save Harry’s life in front of the young boy’s face.

“I think it would only be fair for you to help me out with a few favors. It’s not often a face like yours comes wondering into our part of town. Probably weren’t looking for me, but isn’t today just my lucky day?” His breath was hot against Harry’s cheek and stunk like he hadn’t brushed his teeth for weeks, which he probably hadn’t.

“I c-can’t…” _gasp_ “brea-“ _gasp_. Harry clutched and scratched at his throat despite the close proximity of the slimy man before him. It was collapsing under his frantic fingers.

_Gasp._

The man grabbed hold of Harry by his hair and wrenched his head so he was looking at the sky. 

“P-plea…se…”

_Gasp._

“Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing on my street, Arnold, huh?”

Harry couldn’t see anything but blue sky and black spots cluttering his vision, but he could have sworn he recognized that voice. 

“You think you can come here while I’m out and expect for their not to be repercussions? Remember the last time a Wolf came onto our territory? Answer me!” The faceless voice yelled.

Suddenly, Harry had control of his neck function again; the dirty man, Arnold he now knew, was being ripped away from him. A handful of Harry’s curls went with him causing him to scream through painful wheezes. 

“What the fuck?” The voice questioned.

It was Trouble. He was looking down at Harry, battered and bloody, with a confused expression as he held a struggling Arnold by the collar of his t-shirt. The white fabric was stretching to the point of tearing. Trouble looked like he was caught off guard but all Harry was really concerned about right now was breathing… he needed his inhaler.

“In-“ _gasp_ “-ha…ler… plea…se…”

Still clearly confused, the short man in front of him looked around, continuing to keep a firm grasp on Arnold who wouldn’t keep still. 

“Oh for Christ’s sake…” Trouble seethed through clenched teeth. Then he proceeded to punch Arnold straight in the face and knock him out on the dirty sidewalk. The man fell down beside the rusty pipe that had tripped Harry and it felt like it could only be poetic justice. 

While watching all of this occur, Harry spotted a purple speck out of the corner of his eye. On his hands and knees, he struggled to drag himself over to it. It had fallen out of Arnold’s hand when Louis had grabbed him, falling right next to a beat up, silver trashcan. 

Finally, sweet relief was within Harry’s reach. In a swift movement that didn’t come one second too soon, Harry was taking a hit of the medicine held in the plastic device. The albuterol swirled into his mouth and he breathed it in deeply, relishing in the bitter taste that was restoring his breath and saving his life. 

After a few minutes and three more hits from his inhaler, Harry looked up from where he was crouched. Trouble was still standing there, arms crossed and a glare fixed on the boy below him. Arnold was lying forgotten on the ground.

Harry looked down and away, uncomfortable at being caught in this position. He hadn’t actually known what he would do if he did happen to run into the gorgeous man he was looking for. It hadn’t really been a part of the plan. And Trouble clearly wasn’t happy about it.

He spoke, words still feeling foreign and raspy against his sore throat.

“Thanks for… for…” Harry waved his finger around gesturing at the slack body across from him and the inhaler in his hand, “that. Thanks. I’ll leave now.”

He stood up on shaky legs to go but Trouble took three firm strides over until he was standing directly in front of Harry. He may have been a lot shorter than Harry, but he was impressively intimidating. Harry flinched.

“What are you doing here?”

Harry was tongue tied and scared. Trouble had only been flirty with him when he’d come into the Quickie Mart before. Now he looked like he could squash him like a fly and not bat an eyelash. 

“I… I don’t know… I’m just… I’m lost,” Harry quickly and badly lied.

Trouble was having none of it.

“Bullshit. You don’t come wandering in here without some sort of direction from someone else. Now I’ll ask you one more time. What are you doing here, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes snapped up to meet the blue ones of the man in front of him. He’d remembered his name. It was more than he’d even hoped for

He looked away, color rushing to fill his cheeks. “I was told,” Harry said quietly, “that I could… that I might be able to find you here…”

Trouble’s eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth twitched. He took one more deliberate step forward. Harry’s heart sped up and leapt into his throat. He’d never been this close to someone he was this attracted (and terrified) by. He really should turn on his heel and run away while he still had the chance. He had the distinct feeling in the pit of his stomach that if he decided to leave, Trouble wouldn’t stop him. But if he chose to stay, it would be a decision that changed everything for him. It would shake up his rosy and innocent little life forever.

He didn’t move. Blue eyes met green. Harry stopped breathing all together.

“Well, you found me. What next, Curly?” Trouble asked with a wicked smirk painted across his chiseled face.

Harry gulped. He’d made his decision. His world was about to explode into a thousand little pieces and as he stood there with Trouble’s hand making it’s way slowly up his chest, he thought maybe he wouldn’t mind so much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some shit goes down and Liam is overprotective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay I'm a piece of shit and I've started writing again and hopefully this time won't stop so here ya go, love you all, thank you to my bffeaeae Maddy (loufondlingharry on tumblr) for beta'ing and being overall wonderful.

There had been very few customers all day and Harry was glad for it. He was hopeful it indicated a slow evening so he didn’t have to do much. He was so distracted that although he was physically in the store, what he was doing couldn’t possibly be considered working anyway. 

On the other hand, he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to stay this slow. If it did, it would make the time until he could go over to Liam’s seem so much longer. He’d texted his best friend first thing this morning, before the sun was even peeking out, after he’d found his way back home.

He’d been with Louis last night. It was hard to comprehend. As he stood behind the counter, face propped up on his hand, he breathed in the name. Louis. Now, finally knowing the name of the beautiful man who’d walked into his life like he owned him, it felt like the most natural word to ever slide over his tongue. 

And he remembered crying it out last night as Louis had him bent over, ramming into him on the simple double bed. Louis… Louis had wanted him.

When Harry had set off in search of Trouble, he hadn’t expected to actually find it. He certainly hadn’t intended to sleep with it once it’d been found. Or, when Harry’d been found more like it, since it was Louis who’d stumbled across him in his pathetic state.

But he’d followed behind the boy into a battered flat as if by pure magnetic force; he was drawn to Louis like he’d never been drawn to any human before, like a moth to a flame, like vultures to death. And suddenly Harry hadn’t been able to breathe once again, this time having nothing to do with his flaring asthma. Hot lips had smashed onto his and he was shoved roughly back against the closed door of the flat, leaving bruises that he felt whenever he moved behind the advertisement-covered counter. 

Louis hadn’t been gentle with him, hadn’t asked him if things were going too fast, and in that moment, Harry’s thoughts hadn’t been able to keep up with what was happening between them anyway. Sometimes the things you’re taught are wrong feel too right to just let them pass you by.

Besides, it wasn’t like he was a virgin, Harry thought defensively, straightening himself up as an elderly man walked into the store and wincing at the soreness that was riddled through his entire body. A second customer entered soon after but he didn’t pay them any attention as his mind was still stuck on the night before.

He’d had sex before. Only once and it hadn’t been nearly as intense as it was with Louis… but still. He wasn’t a prude. 

As flashbacks of Louis hunched over his long body, sweat soaked skin on skin, sped through his mind, Harry felt a little bit overwhelmed. He pulled out his inhaler and took a calming drag, to curb any tightening in his chest or his pants. 

The thing with Louis had all just sort of… happened… One moment, Harry had been terrified he wouldn’t survive his asthma attack and the next, Louis had three fingers buried deep inside the tightness of Harry’s ass as breathless pants and whines fell out of his mouth. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now, Curly,” Louis had growled low and sexy in Harry’s ear that had been covered with sweat matted hair. And then he’d plowed inside of Harry, lube messy around Louis’ cock, making him see spots and stars and Jesus fucking Christ himself. 

Harry shifted behind the counter. He was getting uncomfortably turned on thinking about it and he was at work with customers in the store. Boners didn’t exactly scream “professional work behavior”. 

The second customer, a woman in her late thirties with rust colored hair, was in the corner debating whether she should get that chocolate bar that she clearly didn’t need. 

Tiredness stung at Harry’s eyes. Boredom stretched his mouth into a yawn as the woman took her sweet time dawdling up to the register, carrying a can of coke and two bags of crisps. As Harry scanned the items, he could feel eyes trained on his face and Harry frowned. With all the bruises and soreness that had been inflicted on him in the most delicious way possible, it was easy to forget about the marks littering his face from his run in with Arnold and the unforgiving sidewalk. His hand left the plastic sack he was holding to run across the most prominent scratch on his cheek. That one had bled quite a bit. It was going to leave a nasty scar.

The plump woman across the counter pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows in a way that made it clear she wasn’t even trying at all to be discreet with her judgment. It was obvious; this woman thought Harry was trouble. Harry was dumb struck. He dropped his hand. 

Harry’d never had to deal with being thought of as the bad guy, but this stranger clearly thought the bruises on his face told her all she needed to know. It made Harry uncomfortably guilty. He wasn’t a bad person – and he didn’t deserve this from someone who didn’t even know him. Is this what Louis felt like everyday? That thought made him even angrier. What complete and utter shit.

“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t stare at my face like you know what happened to it, ma’am.” Harry said, harsher than he’d intended. He didn’t usually let his anger show; when he was mad, he always managed to keep a pleasant smile on his face even though his insides were seething because that’s just who Harry was. He was polite to the core.

But this woman didn’t know him or his life; she had no right to make judgments. It made him so angry that he couldn’t really do anything to control what she was thinking about him, even though it was probably wrong. He’d never had to worry about fixing a ruined reputation and the thought of it now scared him perhaps more than it should. Maybe whatever this woman was thinking shouldn’t have mattered but to Harry it did because he knew she was wrong. Why was it so easy for humans to assume the worst in people? 

Across the counter, the woman huffed, horrified that Harry had dared stick up for himself. She stared at him, open mouthed and speechless. Then without so much as a goodbye, she turned and borderline stomped out of the shop, the bell on the door dinging behind her, signaling her overdramatic departure.

The old man stood frozen by the refrigerated section, holding a case of beer and staring in bewilderment as Harry rubbed his eyes, flinching as he grazed his cut. 

He released a deep breath he’d apparently been holding. That probably wasn’t very professional of him either and would have gotten him into severe trouble if his uncle had been in store to witness it. But luckily, he’d been gone all morning. Where, Harry didn’t know, but it didn’t much matter at this point. 

“What did happen to your face, Harry?” 

Harry whirled around, instantly regretting it when his ass and the entire right side of his body, the side that had crashed into the concrete the evening before, erupted with pain. 

His uncle, Charlie, was standing in the doorway that led through the back of the shop and to the staircase you would take to reach their flat. His arms were crossed over his chest and the expression on his lined face was unreadable. Harry knew better though. Beneath the calm was anger. Charlie was easily upset. 

He was speechless. Harry knew he was in a lot of shit for not coming home last night before five in the morning, and for not bothering to call with an excuse. He knew he was in a lot of shit for talking back to a customer. And he knew he was in the deepest of shit because of the lie he was about to tell. 

Harry was a natural born talker. It’s how he’d spoken so casually with Louis upon meeting him. People didn’t intimidate him; he lived for people and their lives and their happiness and he wanted to talk to as many people as he possibly could. But in certain situations he was just out of his element. Someone being upset with him was one of those situations. And having to lie was certainly not his best hat trick. 

“I uh…” He swallowed and looked up at his uncle’s hard eyes only to look back down. “I tripped.” He faltered. It was weak and he knew it but it was the best he could do under pressure. He couldn’t say someone else did it to him, that was too close to the actual truth. Besides, if you thought about it in an abstract way, he wasn’t completely lying. He had tripped yesterday. Several times, actually. 

A flash of the underlying anger quivered across his uncle’s face and Harry felt guilt begin to coil up inside of him. Guilt always seemed to be eating away at him. 

“Do you know what I told your mom when she was in hospital?” Charlie asked. Harry’s breath hitched. Now was not the time…

“I sat with her while she was dying and she made me swear that nothing bad would ever happen to you. I gave her my word. I told her I would take care of her boy. She died only wanting you to be okay and you go out and shit on her memory this way with God only knows who.”

Harry tried to turn away from his uncle. He tried to move his feet and walk away, run away from the words he was saying. But he couldn’t. He was glued there, listening to his failures.

What sort of dark, twisted game was his uncle playing? His mum was something he tried to forget about everyday. She was dead. She was forced to leave him because fairness is fucked, but she was gone and he could do nothing about it so he tried, aimlessly, every day, to forget. Each time something brought her up, it ripped open the hole he had messily stitched shut and the pain spilled out again, ripping the threads and staining every thought he had. 

“What do you think she’d say now, with the state of you?” Charlie persisted, face red, the calm façade broken. “I’ll tell you, she’d probably say how I’d failed her as a brother and how disappointed she was in you, getting caught up with the no-goods who think they run this town –“ Harry cut his uncle off, lifting his shaking hand with a warning finger as calmly as he could.

“Stop,” Harry demanded. “Don’t you dare talk about her to me, you have absolutely no right,” Harry said slowly, breaking the hold keeping him there. His voice was wavering but he had something that needed to be said. This new world of judgment that he was suddenly surrounded by needed to be addressed. 

“You don’t know anything about my life, you’ve never cared to learn. And you know even less about the people I choose to be friends with. Stop pretending like you want to honor my mother all of a sudden when it’s convenient for you!” 

His raised voice at the end was the closest he’d gotten to yelling during their short conversation. If he had gotten any louder, he was terrified his voice would crack. It was already thick with emotion and threatening to push him over that edge that would mean tears.

He turned around and walked out of the store almost slower than he talked. He was so out of himself that he almost ran into a small woman with outrageously purple hair who had the misfortune of walking past the Quickie Mart in that moment. If Harry had been paying attention, he would have heard the cursing accusations that left her lipstick smeared mouth.

He pulled out his crappy cell phone, dialing the only number he knew by heart with his shaking fingers and putting it to his ear, fighting against the sting in his eyes. Three rings, and the other line picked up, just as reliable as always. 

“Liam, I need you,” Harry said, broken. Tears were nothing new to him, but he always expected that eventually his body would just get tired of producing them and dry up. It never did. 

“Harry, what’s wrong? Come over, no one’s home,” Liam said, not waiting for Harry to answer his question. “And Harry?”

“Yeah, Li?”

“I love you.”

“Yeah… love you too, Li.”

***********************************************************************************

Louis woke up at about noon, being lazy about hopping into the shower. He’d been up late the night before fucking Harry and fucking was tiring work. Standing in front of his spotted bathroom mirror, he noticed a bite mark that had formed on his right collarbone and he groaned. He didn’t let people leave marks on him. He left marks on other people. And not shitty love bites or anything, he didn’t leave anything that delicate. If Louis wanted to mark you, you were gonna bruise. 

Harry had lots of pretty bruises on him when he left that morning, Louis thought, smirking, as he raised his flimsy red toothbrush up to his mouth.

The younger boy had left his flat at about five that morning. Louis only woke up long enough during his departure to slap his tight ass, take his phone number down into his mobile (so that Louis could call Harry if he so chose in the future, not the other way around), give him directions (really, Louis didn’t know how he’d gotten lost in the first place. His flat was all of five minutes away from the kid’s convenience store), and lock the door behind him. He then crashed back on his thin mattress and slept the entire morning. 

They’d had a good time last night, Louis wouldn’t try to deny that much. He’d been a great lay, pliant and willing and oh so tight around him, probably a virgin with how loud he’d been and how much he blushed throughout the whole thing. And yeah, he’d taken the boys number in case he ever wanted to fuck him again because, to be completely honest, he hadn’t enjoyed a fuck like that in a long time. He didn’t like fucking around with bitchy boys who wanted something or people who thought they could try to get Louis to crumble. 

Harry wasn’t like that. Had never tried to be the one in charge, as if he ever could be. Oh no, he’d completely disintegrated under Louis’ fingertips, bending when Louis said to and moaning when Louis’ fingers would find their way to his curls, pulling back and exposing the soft and bruising flesh of his neck. 

No, Louis hadn’t intended to run into Harry that way, so randomly, right on his block, hadn’t intended to ever have the boys phone number or perhaps plan to make him a more-than-one-time thing. But he wasn’t about to try and take any of it back. Louis was pleased that Harry had seemed to fall into his trap so easily. The innocent boy was a bug who was about to start desperately struggling when he realized he was caught in a spider’s web. He wanted to watch the innocence still left in that perfectly chiseled face of his drain away bit by bit until Louis held all of it, never to give it back. 

He was already well on his way to reaching his goal, it seemed. 

Louis finished brushing his teeth and called Niall to find out where he was. He got the little shit’s voicemail and left a vulgar message about his mother. There was nothing good on the television either, so he flipped it onto the history channel like usual and propped his feet up, rubbing the stubble beginning to grow on his chin. He’d only just woken up, but it was never a wrong time for a nap. 

And if he was still bored tonight when nothing interesting came his way from Zayn, well, he did have a certain someone’s phone number now. 

*************************************************************************

Liam’s place was a second home to Harry. He was safe there. When his mum was sick, at that stage where everyone knows it’s just a matter of time, he spent most of his nights here so he didn’t have to be at the hospital. So of course it’s where he would come at a time like this.

Harry had a lot of things going on in his head at the moment. First off, he was going to be in so much trouble with Charlie when he went back. He shouldn’t have just left that way. He shouldn’t have lied, either. Charlie was only worried about him, he knew that. 

It had taken being out in the cool night air to realize it, but it was too late now. Besides, there was no way he could go back into that store and try to explain or apologize. How could he really explain away the bruises and scratches? He couldn’t, not without letting him know where he was and who he had been with last night. For some reason, beyond the fact that it would get him shipped off to boarding school or something, Harry didn’t want anyone to find out about Louis. He liked the idea of Louis just being his, kept in his mind and on his fingertips. This was sacred.

Louis sent him reeling. The thought of the beautiful man scared him because Harry knew who he was and what he did. He’d heard stories about the Faceless for years, who they’d bribed and threatened and shot. And yes, Harry was an idiot, he knew he was. Because there was no way he couldn’t be drawn to Louis. From the very first day he’d walked into the shop to buy all those Starbars Harry had sensed something about the man that made him want to follow him everywhere, memorize his every heart beat and live his life to the rhythm. 

He was stupid, stupid, stupid. This was dangerous. Louis was dangerous. Harry didn’t have it in him to care. Especially not after last night when Louis had made him feel so many things, all of them fantastic and mind blowing and painful but perfect.

He really just needed to talk to Liam. Liam was the only one allowed into his sacred thoughts.

Harry didn’t bother ringing the doorbell, knowing that Li’s family wasn’t in. His best friend always left the door unlocked for him if he knew Harry was coming over. Stepping into the house, Harry shivered. It was starting to get nippy outside as the sun stopped trying to fight it’s way from behind the clouds and began preparing for it’s eventual climb downwards. 

He found his way up the familiar carpeted stairs and turned left to go to Liam’s bedroom. The door was open. Liam sat on the large bed, which took up quite a bit of the room, a book lying open and face down on the quilt covering the mattress. The quilt was fraying around the edges. Liam had had it for years but would never get rid of it, even if Harry would ever let him. Harry’s mum had made it for him, just before the cancer had debilitated her. Liam had been her son as well, even if they hadn’t shared blood or a name.

Liam sat up and moved the book to his bedside table. It was a mark of their friendship that there was no visible reaction to the dark bruises and scratches covering his exposed skin.

“Hi, Haz,” he said, scooting over, pulling back the quilt and patting the spot beside him. 

Harry immediately melted into Liam’s side and he started crying. Maybe they were tears that hadn’t been allowed to escape when he’d been harassed the day before, maybe they were scared tears because God knows he was terrified over what this Louis mess meant, or maybe it was a mixture of those things and the way the quilt felt on top of him, brushing against the skin of his arm like it was his mother’s hand.

 

“Liam… I think I fucked up,” Harry said thickly, his lips finding it hard to part. His throat ached, his whole body ached, his heart ached. His arms found their way around Liam’s warm body and he held on for dear life, letting his tears soak Liam’s jumper. Guilt swirled within him; Liam shouldn’t have to take care of him all the time. 

Liam didn’t say anything at first, just ran his fingers through Harry’s hair and let him cry. After some time, he cleared his throat but spoke gently and quietly. 

“Harry, you didn’t fuck up. Whatever it was that happened, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” Liam said. He was always so goddamn optimistic. Harry didn’t know if it was a flaw or something he should strive for. 

“It’s just,” Harry sniffled, “I think I did something… a bad thing. I think other people will think I did a bad thing.” 

Liam continued rubbing Harry’s neck as he had been doing for the past several minutes, right at the base of his hair. 

“So you did a bad thing, or other people will say it’s a bad thing? There’s a difference, Harry,” Liam said. And Harry’s eyebrows came together in frustration and confusion because fuck if he knew. Louis had admitted he was trouble from the very beginning. Trouble usually equated to something bad. But being with him… Fuck, if that had been bad, then he didn’t know if he ever wanted to be good. 

But how was he supposed to tell Liam this? He had a hard enough time thinking about Louis in his own head, how was he supposed to formulate words to explain him to his best friend? 

“Does this have anything to do with all the –“ Liam gestured to Harry as a whole, “- marks all over?” 

Harry just nodded his head. 

“Did… Did someone hurt you, Harry?” Liam was obviously being very careful with his best friend, as he always was. Harry was the younger one and Liam was five times his actual age. 

Harry nodded his head, this time shrugging his shoulders as well to dilute his answer. Did someone hurt him? That was a complicated question. Yes, someone had physically harmed him but quite a few of the marks were from Louis and his uncle had cut him pretty deep as well.

“I dunno. I dunno, Li.”

Liam stopped rubbing Harry’s neck, pulling the tall boy so that he was sitting up more and able to face him more freely. He still keeping his strong arms around his friend. 

“I don’t want to push you, Haz, but… could you tell me about the person that did this? Please?”

And Harry broke. He stumbled and paused and laughed and pushed the heels of his hands so deeply into his eyes that they began to hurt under the pressure but he got it all out, explained about Louis first coming in to buy chocolate and each time after that, coming to see Harry and then how Harry had been so stupid and self reliant and had gotten hurt. And then he explained about the other marks, the good ones. How Louis had seemed so pleased to be able to touch Harry and make him completely come apart. 

The only thing he didn’t explain was the fact that Louis was a Faceless. That was the bad thing, that was where Harry had fucked up. Even Liam wouldn’t be able to see past that part to Harry’s reasoning. 

“Oh my god, Harry,” Liam said, putting a lot of emphasis on his name. He put his hands on Harry’s face and pulled it upwards gently so he could get a better look at the cuts and bruises. “Did you go to the police about the guy who assaulted you? If you gave them a description, they could catch him. He needs to be in jail.” 

“No,” Harry answered as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, “I was with Louis.” 

At this Liam looked a little incredulous, “And Louis didn’t go with you to the police? Why not?”

Harry pulled away a bit. He began fidgeting with his hair. 

“Louis can’t – he can’t exactly go to the police station,” Harry said.

Liam wasn’t buying it. He let go of Harry’s face and his arms crossed his chest. He was looking at Harry sternly, in an I-will-take-care-of-you-even-if-you-don’t-like-it way. 

“Look,” Harry started, “He’s not… allowed? He just… he just can’t go around cops, okay?” Maybe Harry was getting a little too upset and maybe Liam didn’t deserve this but he was getting too close, way too close to the information Harry was withholding. 

“Harry, is he like, a murderer or something?” Liam asked completely serious in only a way that Liam could, half whispering even though they were alone in the house and there was no threat of someone overhearing. 

“No! I mean – I mean… I don’t know,” Harry said defensively. Liam’s entire body tensed and his eyes froze, wide open.

Harry was struggling. He had to tell him at this point. He’d already said too much. 

“He’s… Louis’s a Faceless,” Harry said into his hands that were unsteadily covering his face. Liam’s jaw dropped. It was like in the movies, dramatic and almost unbelievable, some really horrible acting. Except Liam’s shock was real. And Harry didn’t like it. 

“That’s like… not safe, Harry… How does that even, you know, like… Does Charlie know?” A little crinkle had appeared on Liam’s forehead as Harry could tell hew as getting frustrated trying to use his words. The disapproval was clashing with Liam’s need to protect and make everything okay for Harry. 

“He thinks he knows. But he doesn’t know. He can never actually know, Liam,” Harry warned. Liam was his best friend and wanted only the best for him but sometimes Liam took it upon himself to decide what he thought that was. Harry was a bit worried Liam would feel obligated to talk to Charlie or something, to protect him. Only, Harry didn’t need protecting. He was a big boy. 

Harry could watch the visible conflict pass across his best friend’s face. He took Liam’s hand and held it close to his chest. 

“Liam, you have to promise you won’t say anything.” 

He wouldn't make eye contact with Harry. He pulled Liam’s hands closer. 

“Promise me, Li, please,” Harry said softly. 

Finally, Liam lifted his eyes to meet Harry’s. 

“You’re getting hurt. Literally, physically hurt. Look at your face, Harry! Am I supposed to sit here and do nothing while you’re out risking your life to be with some gang-banger?” 

It wasn’t that Liam sounded disgusted and Harry knew he was just trying to be a good friend, but that didn’t stop anger from rising up inside of him. He tried to push it down, keep it from erupting. Liam loved Harry, had never been anything but good to him. And he had a valid point, Harry was physically injured right now. 

But the judgment… Every single person was so full of judgment, even his best friend. It was mainly directed at Louis, and to be fair, he was in a gang but… he was also judging Harry’s choices. Judging Harry’s want to be with Louis. Liam thought he was doing something wrong. 

But he needed to stay calm. He needed Liam on his side. 

“He’s not just some gang-banger, Liam. He helped me… he probably saved my life. And he’s funny and nice. There’s more than just one side of him,” Harry said. He felt a little ridiculous, defending Louis like this when he didn’t even know what they were. Were they friends? Were they fuck buddies? Were they boyfriends? 

Hah, yeah right, Harry reprimanded himself. They were not boyfriends. He didn’t even have Louis’ phone number and there was no guarantee that Louis was ever going to use the one he’d given. 

“Him and I aren’t together, like I might not even ever see him again,” Harry said, grimacing. If he was being honest with himself, that was the truth. He’d never see Trouble again.

Liam squeezed his hand and then pulled him into an awkward hug over the bed, they’re knees hitting against each other’s. 

“I just, god Harry, I don’t want you to get hurt… Or worse.” 

“I’m not gonna get hurt, Li,” Harry said, wiping away a stray tear that managed to escape. “I’ll be safe. I’ll be okay.”

Liam let a little laugh escape. “Yeah, you better, you tosser.” He ruffled Harry’s hair. He really needed to stop doing that. 

“Also, pick up your mobile, I’m pretty sure it’s been vibrating on the table for the past ten minutes. Probably Charlie.” 

God, that’s just what Harry needed. To be yelled at over the phone and forced to come home just to be yelled at some more. He reached behind him to grab his iPhone, realizing that he didn’t have to worry because the two missed text messages on his phone were from a number he didn’t recognize. 

His heart jumped into his throat and all of a sudden he’d never felt more nervous. He slid his thumb across the screen, not daring to breathe as his phone opened up to the conversation. 

The first text made blood rush to Harry’s face and eyes widen.

‘hey curly ready for round 2?’

Followed by a second text a few minutes later.

‘don't get lost this time’

It was almost 8 p.m. The sun was just now starting to set. If he hurried he could get over to Louis’ place before it got too late. He probably wouldn’t get beat up this time. Probably.

“You’re not actually thinking about going over there right now are you?” Liam asked, clearly having read his texts and assuming correctly that it was Louis. 

And Harry shouldn’t have felt embarrassed, shouldn’t have felt like the very idea of him finding his way to get fucked was completely stupid (and okay, maybe it was), but he did. And yeah, Liam only wanted what was best for Harry, for him to be safe, but did that mean that Liam needed to act so condescending about the whole thing? Harry was a fucking adult and was capable of making decisions for himself. He didn’t need his best friend making him feel like an idiot for them.

“So what if I am?” Harry asked defensively.

Liam looked at him incredulously. “Harry, you just said you would be safe! And you’re planning on walking into the middle of a war zone in the middle of the night where who knows what could be waiting to attack someone like you!” 

And that did it, right there. Beyond any reasonable explanation, those words just set Harry over the edge.

“Someone like me, what exactly do you mean by that, Liam?” Harry said disgustedly, beginning to push himself off the bed. He needed to get going. 

“Are you leaving? Harry, seriously I didn’t – look, you know I didn’t mean anything, I just meant, like, that place isn’t safe for anyone, let alone at night! Harry stop, stay here tonight,” Liam said, getting up to follow Harry as he was walking out the bedroom door. 

“Come back, Haz, I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I said that, just come back, please.”

But it was too late, Harry was already half way down the staircase at that point, typing out ‘be there soon’. And in his mind, he was already halfway into Louis’ bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has some bad judgment and Liam… well, Liam has some really bad luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was beta'd by the wonderful Maddy, loufondlingharry on tumblr so go love her because she is spectacular and keeps me from putting repeating words and unnecessary commas. (I really love commas.)
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Blood and gang violence! Like a lot of blood. Also drug use. So if you don’t like that, just message me on tumblr and I’ll give you a brief description of what happened in the chapter!

Harry never came back. Liam thought for sure he would turn around and come back because he would realize that Liam was only trying to keep him safe, that he would never say anything to deliberately hurt his best friend. But it was 10 a.m. and Harry had been gone for over twelve hours. 

Was twelve hours long enough to file a missing persons report? 

Liam was pacing around his bedroom frantically, phone in hand as it had been since Harry had left. He’d even fallen asleep with it, hoping Harry would call and it would wake him up. But he hadn’t answered any of Liam’s texts or phone calls. Charlie had called Liam three times, looking for Harry he assumed, but he hadn’t picked up the calls. He thought maybe that would be a betrayal of Harry’s trust and he didn’t want to put any more strain on their friendship than there already was. 

But maybe Harry wasn’t just ignoring Liam’s calls. Maybe he was physically incapable of answering him because he’d been beaten or kidnapped or _killed_. God damn it, Harry really was putting him in a tough spot right now. He had never been more worried about his best friend especially since he had no obvious course of action he to take. 

Because what was he supposed to do? Sit around and wait for Harry to come back? That wasn’t going to happen, Harry had a steely resolve and wasn’t likely to back down so soon. Liam couldn’t call Charlie or even the police because that could get Harry in trouble, they might think he was involved with the gang and Harry wasn’t a criminal. But he couldn’t sit there and do nothing. If something happened to Harry and Liam was the only one that knew where he was, it would come back on him. It would be his fault if Harry ended up dead in a back alley on the 9 o’clock news. 

So what other option did Liam have but to go out and look for Harry on his own? 

That’s how, 20 minutes later, Liam found himself wandering around in the exact part of London that he always actively avoided. He looked extremely out of place in his button down plaid shirt and pristine white converse that contrasted from his grey pants. He walked down an unfamiliar street with nothing in his pockets but his phone and £12. His body, however, was covered with a thick armor of muted terror. He tried to keep his mind sharp and active, ready to whip out his phone and call emergency at a moments notice but that was difficult when so much fear was clouding it, blocking out his fine motor skills and rational thinking.

Why would Harry come back here? Why would he risk so much, especially after all he’d gone through being attacked by a stranger, who had not only been violent towards him but would have probably sexually assaulted him if Louis hadn’t intervened? 

Of course Harry was extremely impulsive, Liam knew that. But was this Louis – the Faceless – really worth it? Just because he’d helped Harry that one time, it sure as hell didn’t make him stand up guy. 

Liam tried to hide his face, turning away from the few people he passed in the streets who were dirty and intimidating, even if they were smaller than Liam. Even with his boxing training, he knew what these people were capable of, if Harry’s story about the man who attacked him said anything. What if that man was still out here, wondering the streets and waiting for another person to attack when they were weak and vulnerable? 

Looking around at the buildings he was passing by, he began to realize that he didn’t recognize anything. Nothing was familiar to him. Damn it, Liam didn’t know where he was. He knew a general area that Harry had described, but didn’t have much else to go on. He could be on the completely wrong street for all he knew. All he could do was look wildly around and hope to catch sight of his best friend still all in one piece while staying in one piece himself. 

Against the wall of a nearby building, there was an old woman wearing several grey layers of clothes, with a scarf over her grey, frazzled hair and a shopping cart covered with a tarp sitting beside her. She looked like the least intimidating person Liam had seen all morning and, really, he had no other option so he walked over to her. 

He was slow and cautious in his approach, looking behind him frequently to keep an eye on his back. This woman looked feeble but Liam couldn’t assume something like that in this area. 

“Excuse me, miss, but I’m looking for someone and was wondering if you could help me,” Liam said politely, making sure not to get to close. 

The old woman’s eyes turned up in a blank stare. She said nothing, making Liam’s unease rise. Her eyes looked dead, told a hundred stories of the horrible things she’d seen on the streets and Liam almost turned and walked away, so overwhelmed by the hopelessness boring into him. But he couldn’t leave until he found Harry. 

“Um, I’m looking for someone called Louis,” he continued, hoping she would just understand and he wouldn’t have to admit out loud that he was looking for a criminal. She continued to stare at him, her expression never changing. 

He moved a little bit closer to the woman, bending over so he could speak quieter. Maybe she hadn’t understood? 

“I’m looking for Louis, the Faceless,” Liam half whispered and his heart jumped into his throat when he saw a flicker of recognition flash on the woman’s face. It was gone in an instant though; Liam almost thought he’d imagined it. 

“So you’ve heard of him? Where can I find him? I need to find my friend who’s gotten mixed up with the bad sort.” 

Slowly, the woman shook her head and made to speak. Her voice was raw and cracked, like she hadn’t had a proper drink of water in ages. In her mouth, several teeth were missing and the ones that she had were covered with a taint of black. Liam was revolted; it looked like her entire mouth was molding. 

“You won’t find no Faceless here, kid. Should get outta here while you can,” the old lady said, looking like an evil witch out of a fairy tale. 

Perhaps he should have listened to her advice. That would make life much easier and less scary than it seemed to be right now. He could turn and leave and go back home, sit around and wait for Harry to inevitably call him and want to come over. 

_‘But what if Harry never calls you?’_ A niggling voice in his brain asked. _‘What if Harry can never call anyone ever again? Because what if Harry is dead?’_

Liam stood firm through his fear. “You don’t understand. I need to find my best mate. He’s in trouble and I can only find him if I know where to find Louis, so are you going to help me or not?” 

He’d been so concentrated on this woman that he forgot to watch his surroundings. Nobody was watching his back for him either. So he didn’t notice two men, roughly about his age, walking close to him, looking at him like predators. He hadn’t noticed their eye contact and little nod as they agreed to approach Liam. He hadn’t been paying the slightest attention to the rippling muscles of their arms or the blank mask tattooed openly on those arms that showed what gang they belonged to and just how dangerous they were. At least until one of them grabbed his shoulder and forced him around to face them. 

Because of his incredible lack of judgment, Liam had no time to react before they were overpowering him, each of them grabbing hold of one of his shoulders, and leading him down the dirty pavement in the opposite direction he needed to go to get home. 

The first man who had grabbed him, the one with longer hair, had a condescending smile on his face and was the one who seemed to be leading them to whatever location they were going. The other had shorter cropped and dark hair and looked like he had never smiled before in his life. A perpetual frown covered his face and his eyes were locked straight ahead, staring at nothing; wasn’t looking anywhere but for a fight. 

Liam’s mind was numb. Rational thought seemed like a distant memory. He didn’t even know how scared on a scale of 1-10 he was because he felt so shocked. His only real thought when walking away from the witch was how he hadn’t even had time to react and call the police. 

All of a sudden, his numbness broke and all the sounds of the street around them came crashing down in his ears like a tsunami. His heart was beating incredibly loudly in his ears and each step the three of them took turned into a magnified echo off the pavement, creating a new kind of anxiety inside him. He was literally scared for his life, a feeling he’d never had to deal with before. What did they want with him? 

Soon they stopped and Liam considered trying to make a break for it, see if any of his running skills remained with him since he’d left school. But two against one would not work in his favor and while he could run long distances at a fixed pace, he had never been the fastest kid around. He began trying to mentally prepare himself for the worst without crying. What hope of escaping did he have? 

“I don’t have much money but here,” he reached his shaky hand into his pocket and pulled out the few notes he had, “you can have this, it’s all I have.” 

The two seemed to ignore his pleadings, the one with the huge hair actually grinning like he thought Liam was being funny, and began backing him into the entrance of an alleyway. 

His face crumpled, he could feel his body threatening to shut down and do the same. Alleyways always equaled something bad and if they cornered him back here, he’d have no chance of escape and no one would probably care to look to see what was happening. 

“P-please, don’t hurt me,” he said, desperately praying that they wouldn’t notice the tears that had sprung in the corners of his eyes. 

This was it, this was the end, he thought. He hadn’t said goodbye to his mum or dad or his sisters. Hadn’t even left a note telling them where he went in case they needed to find his body. He was never going to get to have a proper funeral. And Harry was still out there somewhere; he had failed his best friend. 

The two men stopped closing in. Even with all the panic and cold dread he was feeling, Liam was able to notice that they were still near the mouth of the alleyway. The one with the lion’s mane hair and the crazy smile on his face reached a hand out and was holding Liam in place by his shoulder once more. His entire body was shaking. Tear tracks stained his face. There was no fight he could put up. He was too scared for his life to even try to use his boxing against them. He was trained to fight in a ring against other people who only had their hands as weapons. Liam had never dreamed of needing to be able to defend himself in an alleyway against two gang members. 

The dark haired man was standing behind the other, cracking his knuckles as if daring him to try anything. 

“I’ll shoot straight with you, we overheard you saying you’re looking for Louis,” the lion said. Liam looked up, his eyes now carrying a small glimmer of hope. He was scared to admit that, yes, he had been doing exactly what they thought in case that was the wrong answer, but maybe this wasn’t what it seemed. Maybe they could actually help him find Harry. 

Unsurely, he nodded his head. The two men in front of him looked at each other, seeming to communicate with an eyebrow raise and a nod of their heads. 

And that was when, before he even had a moment to register it happening, Liam buckled over from the pain of first blow to his stomach. 

*********************************************************************************

“Oh my god, Louis!” Harry cried, voice muffled by the fact that his face was shoved into a down pillow. 

Harry was facedown on Louis’ bed with Louis ramming into him from behind. He felt fire course through him with every inch that Louis pulled out and quickly pushed back into him. They had been at this all night and had only slept for a few hours before they were awake and back at it again. 

Louis bent forward, draping himself over Harry’s back fully with his body. Heat and sweat transferred between the two, causing tiny sparks to catch in his nervous system, sending shivers through his body. Louis’ small hands roamed over Harry’s long body, reaching around to his chest and scratching over his nipples and down his stomach, surely leaving fresh marks behind and causing Harry to hiss at the pain. 

“You’re so fucking tight, Harry, such a good little slut, so tight for me,” Louis moaned, heavy breaths struggling to escape into the open air.

Harry’s dick hadn’t been touched since Louis had started fucking him and it was aching, bouncing against his stomach each time Louis slammed into him. Louis’ words only made his cock throb more, aching for any sort of friction. His head felt like it might explode if he didn’t get some sort of contact soon. 

As if Louis could read his thoughts, his hands began to drift downwards towards Harry’s flushed dick. 

“Please, Louis, please, please, please…” Harry whispered, not fully coherent. He was too far-gone from the way Louis was rocking against his prostate with every thrust of his hips. 

Hot breath was falling on Harry’s ear with Louis still bent over him, his hands ghosting over the length of his cock. Harry nearly choked when he felt fingers firmly wrap around him and he began fucking into Louis’ hand in time to his thrusts. He felt so good he thought he might pass out. 

Louis’ free hand slid into Harry’s hair. He pulled back so that Harry’s neck was bared, sliding his tongue against the perfect skin there. 

“Do you like that, Harry?” Louis breathed into Harry’s neck. The mixture of heat and sweat and words reverberating against his skin made Harry shiver and push back harder onto Louis’ cock. 

“Do you like it?” Louis asked more forcefully, yanking back on the curls he was gripping when Harry didn’t answer him. The younger man didn’t know if that was supposed to be punishment but he loved it when Louis pulled at him like that. But Harry nodded his head as best he could with his neck strained against Louis’ grip to answer the question. 

That obviously wasn’t what Louis wanted. He pulled the hair tighter until Harry’s head couldn’t go back anymore, digging his nails into Harry’s scalp and he stopped moving inside of Harry. Louis’ hand remained on Harry’s erection but he stopped moving it. 

He cried out, shudders coursing through his body at the loss of friction. Louis was still inside of him and wrapped around his bigger frame but that was almost worse than if he wouldn’t have been there at all. Whines fell out of his obscene lips into the pillow beneath him. And then slowly and torturously, Louis slid his hand up and down Harry’s cock once, twice, three times – and then stopped. 

“Say it. Tell me how much you like it,” Louis whispered and then licked the shell of Harry’s ear. 

How it was even possible to formulate words when every inch of his skin was on fire, Harry didn’t know but at this point he would do absolutely anything Louis asked of him despite his inability to. He’d fucking sprout wings and fly to the moon if Louis asked it of him.

“So much. Love it so much, Lou,” Harry muttered, not sure if he was intelligible and not caring. “You’re so good, I love it.” 

For a second, Harry didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Everything stilled; Louis, the air around him, time itself. The grip on his hair slackened just a fraction and Harry was about to turn to face Louis to see what was wrong. But then time snapped back into place and Louis slammed his hips against Harry, using his hair like reins on a horse. He was fucking Harry with a new fervor, so fast and reckless that all the breath in Harry’s lungs escaped. It wasn’t two minutes more before Harry was spurting come all over the bed beneath him and he could feel Louis shuddering on top of him, riding out his orgasm. 

A moment later, Louis rolled off the younger boy and pulled out of him before flinging the used condom across the room in the general direction of the waste bin. 

Harry was still having trouble breathing. Every time they had sex it was an entirely new, life changing experience. He thought this might be what it means to be close to God. 

They lied like that for maybe thirty seconds and in that time Harry had a crazy thought. What if it could be like this everyday? Louis didn’t have to be a Faceless, he could get out. Harry could get a real job and Louis could… Well, he could do whatever the fuck he was good at and Harry could come to his flat everyday and be with Louis and they could just be _together_. 

Even as he was thinking it, he was shaking the thought out of his head. What was he on about? He’d been over here all of two times; did he think that meant a proposal? 

He felt the bed shift and looked over. Muscles rippled over Louis’ back, down to the swell of his ass as he made to get up. Truly, Harry had never seen anything more filled with perfection than Louis’ body. He was made out of sinew and golden skin that seemed to glow under any kind of light, even the really shitty lights that Louis had in his flat, and Harry couldn’t help but stare as the older man started walking out of the small space that accounted for his bedroom. 

“I’m going to shower, Curly. Don’t think it’s possible for you to get lost while you leave so I won’t bother with directions,” Louis said, scratching his sculpted chest. 

Harry laughed at first, thinking Louis was joking around with him. He wasn’t just going to kick him out without so much as a hug or a “see ya later” or even a slap on the ass like last time, he wouldn’t do that. Social protocol called for more. But his laughter dwindled when Louis made no attempt to turn back around. He didn’t even actually say the words good and bye. Harry heard the bathroom door shut and the shower come to life.

Stunned. He was just stunned. Unwelcome hurt started swelling in his chest, unfurling like hot water flooding his insides. 

It didn’t make any sense to be hurt and Harry hated himself for it; what else had he expected? For them to go out and grab brunch, hold hands and fall in love? No, social protocol didn’t count with gangsters. Liam was right; Harry never should have come here. 

He got out of bed, wincing at the aching in his body that had only gotten worse with the previous night. He slipped on his briefs and then his black skinny jeans that were lying on the floor at the end of the bed. His shirt was harder to find and eventually he saw it sticking out from under the bed and pulling it over his head as quickly as possible so that he could just leave already. His eyes were still sore from crying and he knew how easy it would be for him to break down into tears again. He needed to get out of here. 

Walking out of the building and out onto the street in front of him, he pulled his phone out of his pants pocket, where it had been all night. He had to squint away the brightness of the sun to see the screen where _(11) Missed Calls_ read. Ten of them had been from Liam, only one from Charlie. Really, the effort Charlie put into caring about Harry and trying to find him was touching. So much concern in that one phone call, clearly. 

The last missed call had only been 22 minutes ago from Liam. He’d left several voicemails. Maybe later today he’d actually listen to them and call his best friend back but for right now, Harry was in no place to be hearing “I told you so.” 

He scrolled through his contacts, finally landing on Nick and deciding to give him a shout. He hadn’t seen Grimmy in a while and he needed a place to go, seeing as how he couldn’t really go to Liam’s and he couldn’t very well go home either. He put his head down against the stares of anyone on the streets and began walking as he brought the phone up to his ear. He’d have to take the bus to Grimmy’s since it was too far to walk but he had enough money on him to do that. 

Guilt that had been coiled in his belly for the past twelve hours tried to rise up and mingle with the hurt that was still sitting in his chest, but Harry shoved it back down. He’d call Liam later and get things sorted and they’d be good again. Liam always forgave Harry and maybe, just this once, Harry was going to take complete advantage of that. 

*********************************************************************************

“I swear, I’m just looking for my friend! Please, I swear!” Liam screamed through the blood pouring out of his nose and into his mouth. He was crumpled on the ground on his side, holding his knees as tightly as he could to his chest to protect his ribs from the blows coming at him. 

The two men were taking turns punching Liam and now kicking his balled up form on the ground. It was mainly the one with the lion hair, the one with the sick smile on his face like he enjoyed this, got off from it even. They were asking him what he wanted with Louis, who he thought he was coming into their territory like this, telling him he didn’t even know who Louis was, was just making stuff up to seem like he was cool, telling him he made up this “friend” he needed to find Louis to get to. Telling him he was just a stupid kid who’d messed with the wrong people. And the blows never stopped.

Liam was blinded and he couldn’t tell if it was from the tears or the blood that was so thick on his face. As another kick landed his near his eye, he felt his forehead split and more blood came pouring out, hot and choking. 

All Liam had wanted to do was find Harry. That’s all he wanted. A hard kick straight in his back, near his spine. He just wanted to wake up and be at home in his bed, snuggling with Harry under his quilt like they used to. A kick snapping his head forward, so hard that spatters of blood flew off his face and onto the brick wall that was trapping him. Where was Harry? 

For a moment, the blows seemed to stop and Liam thought maybe they were finally done playing with him, had gotten bored with their game of him and were ready to move on and leave him there in the alley. But then he felt the white-hot searing pain, heard the crack and felt his arm splintering, the bone breaking and tearing at the skin that was supposed to protect it. A guttural scream ripped itself out of Liam’s raw throat, echoing loudly behind him. He had no thoughts other than _Pain, blinding Pain_ ; there was no room for anything else. The one that didn’t talk much and looked much too bored for any of this, just stepped on his arm harder, grinding it into the concrete and dirt beneath Liam’s writhing body and Liam continued to scream, face and mind and his whole being twisted with the pain and blood and terror that held him in a little cocoon of Hell. He just wanted it to be over. He wanted to die right now so that all of this would stop. No, he hadn’t found Harry and he hated himself for that, but he just wanted all of the pain to end.

Liam was barely aware of anything going on around him anymore but he moved his eyes despite the sear of pain if sent through his skull to see the bored one crouched down near his head. The man leaned forward until he was inches from Liam’s unrecognizable face. 

“Don’t come around here again. Next time we won’t be so nice,” he said slowly and deliberately, voice barely above a whisper. The lion one kicked him one last time with his heavy boot, landing the blow on his back and all Liam could do was follow the momentum, his body lurching forward and then rolling back on it’s own accord. And with another blink from Liam, the two men were walking away and out of the alley. They left Liam there alive but in so much agony that his mind shouted at him that he would be better off dead. 

Rational thought wasn’t coming easily through the _Pain_ that permeated all of his thoughts. Concentrating hurt but he struggled through, trying to fight off the blackness creeping into his vision and think of what he could do. 

Help. He needed help. Someone had to find him or he really would die like this, sprawled out in an alleyway, covered with blood and shame. It took every ounce of determination that he had left in his damaged body for his unbroken right arm to reach into his pocket and find his phone, Miraculously, it hadn’t suffered any damage beyond a cracked screen when he was attacked.

He had to call someone and maybe that someone should have been the police or his parents or anyone in a position of authority who could take care of him but the only person that he wanted to talk to and see was Harry. He pulled open his phone and strained his mind to concentrate on pushing all the right numbers as he cried and ground his teeth through the agony radiating off of him. 

He used the very last of his strength to pull the phone up to his face and set it there, just letting it lie on him so that he didn’t have to support it with his arm that had just given out. The phone rang several times…

_Hiiiiiiii guuuuuys, it’s Harry. I can’t answer my phone, so leave me a message if you want. Okay, byyyye!_

His voicemail beeped and Liam rolled over completely onto his back, phone falling off his face and clattering to the ground. He carefully thought about how much effort it would take his mum to get all this blood out of his clothes and how weird those loud and shrill alarm sounds that seemed to be traveling closer were as he mumbled out Harry’s name, his eyes fluttering shut and the pain dragging him down into darkness. 

************************************************************************************

Later that evening, Zayn Malik was sitting in his leather chair, resting his brooding face on both his hands clasped together. They were decorated with rings and tattoos, and were intimidating by themselves, even without being attached to the leader of The Faceless. 

He was listening to Andy and Stan, two of the lower members, talk about someone they beat the shit out of in an alley. This kid had allegedly claimed to be looking for Louis. 

“You should have seen the fucking kid, he was terrified, begging us to,” Andy’s voice changed into a high pitched, mocking tone, _“stop, please leave me alone, I just want to find Harry!”_ He laughed, looking over at Stan, who was sitting on the leather couch opposite of Zayn. 

Zayn tolerated Stan a lot more than he did Andy. Andy was obnoxious and loud and the only reason he kept the fucktard around was his taste for violence. That was why Zayn directed his question at Stan, pointedly ignoring Andy. 

“You’re sure he was looking for Louis?” he asked. This didn’t sit well with him and he was not pleased with these two for almost killing someone that could have been brought and left for him to question. Even if the kid had been spewing bullshit like the two in front of him seemed to think, he knew Louis’ name and he seemed to know about where to find him. If someone was looking for someone in his crew, especially if that person was Louis, his brother, Zayn wanted to know fucking why and get rid of the annoyance before it became a problem. 

“That’s what he said, boss,” Stan replied shortly, keeping eye contact with not a hint of emotion on his face. Zayn inclined his head in a nod considering what this meant. This kid knew something he shouldn’t or he was very stupid or both. Either way, Zayn wasn’t about to ignore it and wait to find out. 

Maybe the beating had taken care of the kid and he would never come wondering around to find any of his family again, but that wasn’t a chance he was willing to take. There was enough power behind him to permanently get rid of a problem like this if he needed to. 

But right now that wasn’t the most important thing on his plate. He would see Louis later and ask him what the fuck was going on but right now he needed to take care of some more important business. 

“Andy, leave,” Zayn said without even looking at the man. He was incompetent when it came to anything important. Out of the two of them, Stan was the only one he trusted with anything more complicated than beating up a defenseless kid in an alleyway. Zayn could tell Andy was pissed as he got up slowly and looked between Stan and Zayn. He wasn’t quite stupid enough to try anything or ignore an order from a higher up though. Particularly not when that higher up was Zayn. 

As soon as the door shut behind him, Zayn pulled a plastic baggie out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. White powder filled the baggie and Stan made a move to grab it as it slid across to him before he stopped short. He looked up at Zayn with an eyebrow raised and Zayn nodded at him. 

The man picked up the bag, opening it and using his fingers to grab a pinch, rubbing it between his fingers and testing it out. Zayn watched at him, studying his movements and his interest. Calculating. 

“Good stuff,” Stan said after his inspection, sealing the baggie back up and holding it between his hands.

Yes, Zayn decided, Stan would do well for this particular project. 

“We start moving it in a month,” Zayn said. Stan stayed quiet, nodding his head. “I want you in on this with us. I need people who aren’t gonna get fuckin’ caught,” he jerked his head towards the door where Andy had left before, “and who are gonna be loyal to The Faceless. No matter what.”

There was a pause for a few seconds and Zayn raised his eyebrow at Stan, still holding the bag of cocaine, looking at it as if making a decision. Not that there was much of a decision to be made. Either Stan went through with it or Zayn had to kill him. He knew Stan knew that but he left it open as if he had the option anyway.

Stan began nodding his head, “I’m in.” His hand reached across the table, the barest hint of a tremor running through his otherwise sure hand. 

Of course you are, Zayn thought, shaking his hand. He leaned back in his chair, jerking his head towards the door, indicating it was time for him to leave. Stan got up and began heading towards the door. 

“Leave the product,” Zayn said, a warning clear in his voice. Stan still held the cocaine in his hands and he froze, immediately turning around, realizing what he’d done. 

Zayn considered punishment, and maybe with someone else, like Andy, he would have done it. But Stan had always had the gang’s back; his loyalty had never wavered. He’d let this one slide as an almost accident but he wouldn’t tolerate stolen goods. 

“Right, sorry, accident,” Stan said, shaken for the first time that afternoon, scared at the idea of angering Zayn. He knew, undoubtedly, that upsetting Zayn had consequences. He tossed the baggie of white powder across the room, it landing in Zayn’s quick hands, and left the flat.

Stan having gone, Zayn poured out a vague line of the white powder on the coffee table, using a playing card, a king of hearts, to make the line neat. He liked things to be in order. Zayn decided to text Perrie that it was time to come over. She didn’t have a job, knew not to go out with her friends unless Zayn had specifically said it was okay; she was around at his place most of the time but when she wasn’t, she needed to be able to come to him whenever he needed her and she couldn’t do that if she was out running around. So like every other day when she wasn’t all doped up in Zayn’s flat, she was sitting at her own flat that Zayn paid for, waiting for his call. 

He sent her a text, _‘cum ovr now’_ , and tossed his phone down on the table, rolling up a crisp pound note and bending over to the beautiful white dust, thinking about the blanket of euphoria it was about to lay across his mind. It didn’t take long after he took the hit, snorting it and letting the powder permeate the walls of his nose and into his brain, for the high to kick in. Energy and strength rushed through his body and God, he loved the rush that the drug brought him every time. He really needed Perrie to hurry the fuck up so they could snort another line together. 

With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Zayn got up to walk around. He walked out to the balcony jutting off the side of his building, overlooking the city street. The air outside was cool but his body still felt warm, buzzing with the effects of the cocaine that he loved so much. Moving this product was going to take a lot of planning and skill, but having constant access to it when he needed it was going to make all of that worth it. 

Perrie came popping into his brain, which was humming so clearly and brightly, like the sun streaming through clean glass, but was clouded at the same time. She was going to be thrilled. This was going to be good for his gang, for his reputation and for his girl. He’d get a few perks out of it that others might not though; Perrie always fucked better when she was high.

***********************************************************************************

Nick had happily let Harry come over and crash at his place and Harry couldn’t be more grateful. He’d always been a good friend to Harry, helping him out in tight spots if he ever needed someone who was a bit older and more experienced with the world. The older man didn’t even ask any questions about the bruises and scabs covering his exposed skin. Harry supposed that maybe he should feel a little guilty because he was, for all intents and purposes, using Nick and his friendship so that he didn’t have to go back home but Nick seemed so happy to have him that he shut down those thoughts.

A hot cup of tea in a mug decorated with wildflowers sat, steaming, between Harry’s enormous, fumbling hands. Nick sat down on the sofa with him and flipped on the television, letting some talk show drone on in the background as he asked Harry how he’d been.

They chatted about their respective jobs and Nick told him funny stories about the small radio station he worked at and how he was attempting to move up, trying to make something of himself in the radio world. 

It was nice for Harry, to be able to just sit and chat with an old friend and not have to constantly think about Louis. He was hardly thinking about Louis at all, actually. Only a tiny bit. Like, maybe every few thoughts. Or every other thought. Okay so actually, he had to let Nick do most of the talking so that every thought he was having, which was about Louis, wouldn’t accidently come out of his mouth, but who was counting? 

Not that any of that mattered because Louis clearly didn’t want him. The beautiful boy hadn’t tried to talk to him since he’d left. He definitely wasn’t thinking about Harry as much as Harry was thinking about him, that was for sure. 

Liam was also another thing that was plaguing Harry’s mind. He had stopped calling him, hadn’t even sent a text since about one. That wasn’t like his friend. The Liam he knew would have continued to blow up his phone until Harry finally broke down and answered. Had he gone to Charlie? Or had he just given up on Harry? Not that he could really blame him if he did, Harry thought. He’d been a full on twat about things last night if he was being honest with himself. He really needed to call his best friend and make things good again. If he lost Liam, he’d never be able to forgive himself. 

“Harry, you sure you’re alright?” Nick asked, finally not able to overlook how much his friend was zoning out and not paying any attention to what he was saying. 

Harry snapped back to reality, looking pretty wildly over to Nick. “What? I mean, totally, yes I’m fine, Nick, thanks. I just,” Harry said, “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, yeah?” 

He shook his head, trying to clear it even a tiny amount to make room for the environment surrounding him. Now he felt like the biggest jerk. He had come over to Nick’s because he needed a place to stay and now he couldn’t even get himself to pay attention to him. 

“Okay, yeah, just if you want to talk about anything, you know you can with me,” Nick said, worry in his eyes. 

Harry nodded, taking a sip of his tea, which had cooled considerably. “I know, thanks. Seriously, thanks for letting me come over here and I’m sorry I’m not being very good company.” 

“It’s alright,” Nick said, scooting closer to Harry and putting a calming hand on his knee. “Just don’t feel like you have to shut people out, Harry.” 

Nodding his head, Harry pulled out his phone and looked at the voicemail icon one more time. It had been sitting there all afternoon, taunting him. He should really stop ignoring Liam now and maybe he could start by listening to his message, no doubt begging him to come back to his house and sort things out. 

Setting his cup down on Nick’s coffee table, black, wrought iron legs with a pretty glass table top, Harry stood up and excused himself to the bathroom. Once he had the door closed and locked, Harry sat down on the side of the tub and called up his voicemail. 

“You have 5 unheard messages,” the automated voice that Harry had taken to calling Sharon, told him. 

The first was from Liam asking him where he was and telling him to please come home. The second was a very brief one, 15 seconds at the most, from Charlie. It just said “Harry, I’d like it if you came home so we could try to talk like mature adults.” That was it. No ‘I love you’ or ‘I hope you’re okay’ because that just wasn’t Charlie’s style. Sometimes that man made it very difficult to tell he even cared about Harry at all, Harry thought bitterly. 

Harry listened to the next two, which were from Liam, both variations of the first message he’d left. I love you, come home, I’m sorry, I’m so worried about you Harry… Harry had a lead weight in his stomach and he felt like he might be sick because of what he’d put Liam through. Liam could have thought he was dead, for Christ’s sake and Harry hadn’t done anything to negate the idea. 

“Next message, 12:49 p.m.” Sharon informed him. 

Harry might have thought it was a prank call if it weren’t for the fact that it had clearly been from Liam’s phone. Nobody was talking from the other line. At first all he could hear were scratchy noises and some hollering in the distant background. And were those – were those sirens?? Harry thought incredulously. 

He jumped, sitting precariously on the edge of the tub and almost fell in when the phone on the other end seemed to clatter and fall onto something hard. His heart was beating out of his chest, his eyebrows knit together. What was going on? Was Liam doing this to scare him, to prove a point? 

Except, no, Liam wasn’t capable of doing this to anyone let alone Harry. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body and whatever was happening on the other line, if it was meant to be a joke, it was extremely mean. 

That’s when he heard the groaning… And it was so obvious that it was Liam’s groaning. Liam was clearly in pain on the other end of this phone call. His best friend in the whole world. What had happened to him? Harry began to cry quietly and softly because Liam had called him, had tried to call Harry for help and Harry had been too busy getting fucked by someone who didn’t give a damn about him to be there for the only constant Harry had had in his life since his mothers death. 

And then Harry broke, he just fucking broke. Because Liam was somewhere, hurt from God knows what, and he was choking on Harry’s name. He was moaning, his quiet, scratchy “ _Harry_ ” thick with pain and Harry’s heart seized up, dropped out of his body and he was frozen. Liam could be dead somewhere and if he was, Harry would be haunted by his own name for the rest of his life, by the fact that he hadn’t saved his best friend when he’d needed to do was pick up the phone. 

What had he fucking done?


End file.
